


In Brandy Veritas

by Diyanna_Writes



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diyanna_Writes/pseuds/Diyanna_Writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the February Challenge at the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers group of Facebook. A brief one shot of my OTP and the sweetly awkward way they fall in love. Not sure if this is going to be part of their greater story, so consider it unconnected for now. This is based on a multi!Warden AU, so expect appearances by M!Cousland and F!Mahariel, as well as other NPCs. Many thanks to the wonderful people over at the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writer's group, with extra special thanks for EasternViolet, who beta read for me, and my RP partner, for bringing Alistair so wonderfully to life for me.</p>
<p>Antivan brandy and a mischievous Mabari leads to some shenanigans late at night in the Warden camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Brandy Veritas

Diyanna Surana sat up slowly, blinking tiredly. Of course she wasn’t going to sleep until her watch began, it was foolish to even try. She was sure that she had an hour or more until she was needed, but her body refused to comply. With a groan of defeat she reached for her robes. But instead of soft, well-worn cotton she encountered warm, rough fur. She gave a shriek, which was met with a joyful bark, and then Cousland’s fool dog, Maximus, ran out of her tent, her robes clenched in his teeth.

With her own unique brand of curse Diyanna kicked off her sleeping furs.. “Blast and wretch… get back here!” She flew from her tent. The mabari was waiting for her, wagging his stubbly tail. He yipped around the mouthful of her clothing, before running through the camp. “Stop, you wicked beast, stop!”

Alistair had been sitting at the fire with the other human men of their group, Alexander Cousland and his friend, Roland Gilmore. They were sharing a bottle of Antivan Brandy and while the stuff burned like dragon fire, Alistair was taking the opportunity to relax. Recruiting the Dalish had been a trial. Using Cousland’s expensive booze to kill a few brain cells seemed like a good idea before heading to the Circle to recruit the mages.

His head popped up when he heard a cry and then a bark from Surana’s tent. “Cousland, it would seem that your dog…” He lost the thread as soon as the elf mage erupted from her tent, barefoot, dressed only in her shift; her russet hair unbound, her limbs pale in the moonlight.

Cousland let out a wolf whistle, which brought the little mage up short. She turned, saw the humans at the fire and flushed deeply.

“Lovely legs you have there, Surana. Why not bring them closer, for a better look?” Cousland called out, snickering to himself.

“Don’t be crude, Alex,” Rory said, shaking his head. “Can’t you tell she’s embarrassed? Go rein in your hound.”

Before she could respond, Maximus barked and pounced on her, knocking her into a muddy puddle. He dropped her robes and began to lick her face, and when her shift came askew, he slobbered over her shoulder as well. She began to laugh and wiggled. “Stop, you silly beast! Stop!”

Alistair dropped the brandy with a thud. The liquid sloshed over his boot, and he swiftly righted the bottle. He swallowed hard, listening to the elf laugh, seeing her in a soaking wet shift, witnessing the pale flash of her shoulder. Quickly he got to his feet, hurried to Diyanna’s side and grabbed the dog by his collar. “Down, mutt,” he growled. “Cousland, deal with your dog.”

Alex whistled sharply. The dog whimpered and slunk back to his master, head hanging. Alistair reached down to Diyanna. “Need a hand?”

The elf accepted, flushing brightly. “Thank you,” she said meekly, her eyes on the ground, bangs hanging in her face.

“Are you hurt?” Alistair pressed, his concern for her overriding his other emotions.

Diyanna shook her head. “Just my pride.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes and bit her lower lip as she realized that she was wearing only a muddy, wet shift. Before she could die of embarrassment, Leliana came to her rescue.

“We need to get you down to the pond and wash your clothing. You could use a rinse as well,” Leliana said, voice gentle but teasing. She looked Alistair up and down. “Alistair, take off your shirt.”

“What? Why?” he asked, flushing brightly.

“Because Diyanna is going to need something to wear while she cleans her clothes. Your shirt is about the same length as her shift.” As Alistair spluttered, trying to come up with a reason to decline, Leliana tsked. “You are a gentleman, no? She is a damsel in distress. Won’t you help her?”

Alistair blinked, clammed up, then shucked his shirt and passed it to the elf. Diyanna took it wordlessly, and Leliana led her down to the pond. Alistair watched them for a few, stuttering heartbeats. Once he could no longer see them he went into his tent, grabbed a blanket and returned to the fire. Rory handed him the bottle with a smile, and Alistair tipped it back, drinking.

“There you go,” Rory said, patting him on the back. Alistair continued to drink until the bottle was empty and Cousland grabbed another. When the ladies returned, Alistair’s cheeks were red and his vision somewhat blurry. The sight of the elf, freshly washed, wearing his own shirt, made his tongue feel thick and his breeches feel tight. He swallowed his mouthful with a gulp as she sat across from him, reaching for the flames. He could see she was shivering, so he rose unsteadily and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, biting her lower lip again. Alistair suppressed a groan and a shudder, barely. “Don’t you need this?” she asked. He shook his head.

“I’m juss gonna.. I’m gonna… I should go lie down. You’ll need this during your watch.”

“I’ll return it when my watch is over,” she said softly. Alistair gave a shaky nod and stumbled to his tent, falling gratefully onto his sleeping roll. As his eyes closed, all he could see was Diyanna, biting into her lower lip, or on the ground in that wet, clinging shift, as the mabari licked her face.

“Void take me,” he groaned, kicking his boots off. He’d never get her out of his mind now

~~~

The hours of Diyanna’s watch ticked by slowly, as she sat shivering by the fire. Leliana did her best to assure her that, in time, she would live this down, but Diyanna wasn't convinced. All the same, she appreciated Leliana’s attempts to convince her otherwise. Eventually Ceridwyn Mahariel and Rory came to relieve them, and the two redheads rose, bid everyone goodnight, and retired to their tents.

Diyanna opened her tent flap and recalled that the blanket around her shoulders was not her own. She had told Alistair she’d return it. She let her tent flap fall and quietly entered Alistair’s. She moved cautiously, not wanting to wake him. He looked sweet when he was sleeping. His guard was down, and he had no humor to disarm people with. Gently, she laid the blanket over him, but in doing so, lost her balance. She whispered a curse. “Blast.”

Without conscious thought, the warrior in Alistair roared to life; he snarled and grabbed for the intruder, his hand seizing a slender limb hard enough to bruise. When he came to full wakefulness, he realized who he’d tugged across his body. Alistair’s eyes widened as he took in the situation. He could feel her breath on his cheek, see the startled blue of her eyes, her lips just a heartbeat from his own.

“Maker’s itchy underdrawers!” He released her and scrambled back. “Surana, I’m… I’m so… I didn't mean… you startled me! What are you doing in here?”

The poor elf lass was so shocked she couldn't seem to make her voice work. Her heart hammered against her rib cage with enough force she thought the bones might crack. “I… I… I…” she stuttered. Then she pointed to the blanket. “I just… your blanket.” She scurried back from him. “I’m so sorry!”

Ceridwyn scowled in the direction of Alistair’s tent. She could hear Diyanna’s voice inside. She didn't like the thought of her fellow elf colluding with human men, but the city-raised elf was an adult, and could make her own decisions. But then she heard the fear in her voice, and, knowing from their private talks of Diyanna’s innocence, felt pressed to act. She burst into the tent without preamble. “What is going on here? Are you alright, _lethallan_?”

“NOTHING! THERE IS NOTHING GOING ON,” Alistair shouted as yet another female erupted into his tent. “Andraste’s pyre, don’t you people ever knock?”

Ceridwyn cocked an eyebrow. “On a tent?”

“Well you know what I mean. What if I’d been…” he gestured futilely, “y’know… _naked_ or something?”

“It’s a risk I’d take, to be sure you weren't harming her.”

Alistair looked taken aback. “Harming her?! I… I’d never!” He looked to the other elf for support, and then he saw the fear in every line of Diyanna's body as she scrambled to get away from him. He dropped his head into his hands. "Bloody Void."

Diyanna fled from his tent. Ceridwyn followed, but not before she gave Alistair a withering look, which luckily he missed. “Are you hurt, _lethallan_? Shall I go back in there and teach him a lesson?”

Diyanna shook her head mutely. Her lips were pressed closed together as she inspected the forming bruise on her wrist. She would never have thought Alistair capable of something like this. He had always defended her, always treated her with kindness and respect. He had taken hits meant for her and never turned his templar skills on her. She’d always felt safe in his presence. She closed her eyes and recalled the guilt and shame on his features. This had truly been an accident. He had not meant to hurt her.

When Alistair raised his head again, the elves were gone. Well, that had been a stellar success. He groaned, lying back and covering his head with the blanket, which now smelled like her, VOID TAKE THE BLASTED THING. Fantastic. He’d essentially assured that Diyanna would never speak to him again for the rest of his sorry, Maker-forsaken existence. And that bothered him far more than it should. Of all the companions he’d met since Ostagar, Diyanna was the sweetest. She was gentle and kind, a healer who constantly looked out for the others. It also didn’t hurt that she was, in his studied opinion, incredibly beautiful, with her russet hair, and eyes which played between blue and green. And now she would never give him the time of day. Wonderful.

Ceridwyn’s icy eyes narrowed at the bruise forming on Diyanna's wrist. "Have you forgotten the promise I made to you at Ostagar? Just say the word and he will regret this night, I promise you."

Diyanna looked at her bruised wrist and bit her lip hard. "He didn't mean to. I startled him awake. He's a fighter…he..." She looked up at her friend with disappointment in her eyes. “I just need to rest. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“You are certain?” Mahariel asked. Diyanna nodded, so the Dalish clapped her on the shoulder and withdrew to her own tent.

Alistair could hear their voices through the blanket. Not what they were saying, but Alistair could hear enough to know that Surana was talking to Mahariel. That had to be a good thing, right? She hadn't run off or barricaded herself in her tent. Those were good signs, surely.

He gave a sigh, crawled out of the tent abashedly, and got slowly to his feet. His head was playing an enormously loud fanfare already, bloody Antivan swill.

"Surana," he began, "I..." and then he saw the way she cradled her wrist and his voice departed. "Did I... oh, oh Maker." Alistair went to his knees. "Tell me I didn't hurt you." He clutched at his hair. "Oh, Maker. Surana, I would never... you have to believe me. I would never hurt you. I'd do anything to—here. Just punch me." He rose to his feet and stuck out his jaw. "I deserve it. Go ahead, punch me. Right in the face."

"I... I really don't think that would help," she said. She looked as if the very thought of it made her ill. "It's alright. I promise. I do. I forgive you."

Alistair's stomach rolled. "One good punch. Really. You'll feel better. I'll feel better."

Diyanna experimentally made a fist and looked up at Alistair. It didn't feel right, and she didn't _want_ to strike him. Still, Alistair needed to be taught a lesson, and physical violence wasn't her style. She glanced around, thinking. His previous outburst had roused everyone. Even Morrigan had come over from her fire and was watching intently.

Further violence wouldn't solve anything. Instead, she rose on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his chin, hoping that would shock and embarrass him. Before he could react she retreated to her tent. "Good night, Alistair,” she said softly, over her shoulder.

Alistair stood stock still. She kissed him. He had wronged her, and she kissed him? He could hear laughter behind him, from Rory and Alexander, even Leliana. He couldn't tell if the snort of disgust was Morrigan or Ceridwyn. Maybe it was from both. He continued to stand there, wondering what she had meant by it. Did she care for him? Was she teasing him? Did she know how attractive he found her, and that he was beginning to truly care about her?

After he’d been standing there dumbfounded for several moments, Rory took pity on him. He walked over and clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Come on now, Chantry boy. Get back in your tent. You aren't going to figure her out tonight. Get back to bed and talk to her in the morning.”

Alistair shook his head like a wet mabari and heaved a sigh. “You’re right. Thanks, Rory.” He nodded at the knight, then returned to his tent. He flopped artlessly onto his bedroll, and wrapped the blanket around his body. He inhaled deeply, smelling her scent, and smiled. _She kissed me. Oh Maker, she kissed me._


End file.
